


A Flickering Blade

by R_Black



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: I love Kolivan therefore I must hurt him, Lots of Angst, M/M, Non-sexual torture, PTSD, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Season 7 Spoilers, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, congratulations now feel terrible with me, destructive thoughts, okay so I really needed to just write some kolivangst and you got it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 04:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Black/pseuds/R_Black
Summary: The pain Kolivan endured was constant and agonizing. But it wasn't just the physical torture of the Druid that made Kolivan want to give up. The emotional agony was all but destroying him from the inside.





	A Flickering Blade

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Voltron: Legendary Defender Season Seven ahead. Do not proceed unless you have seen at least episode 5.

The pain was excruciating.

Not only was Kolivan—on the run from the Druids still occupying this planet—about to pass out from blood loss, his limbs felt heavier and heavier with each step he took. His makeshift bandages only served to lessen the blood flowing from his stomach to the ground and making a trail to his location. Not that it mattered; his feet were dragging so often he might as well have made a neon sign that read **I’M OVER HERE**.

But it wasn’t the physical pain that hurt him so much. No, it was the emotional pain. He’d led his Blades into a trap. Led them to their deaths. It was as if someone had stabbed him clean through his heart, knowing he’d done such a thing.

It was his fault they were dead.

His knees gave out under him. This was it. His _crowning achievement_ as leader of the Blade of Marmora. He would be the last to lead…and the last to die.

The ground came up faster than he thought it would. Not that he cared. He began thinking of all the ways he should apologize to all of his fellow Blades when he met them in the afterlife. How ashamed they all must be of him, even Antok.

Antok.

Spirits, at least he’d finally be able to see Antok again. Kolivan felt his lungs rattle as he tried to stop himself from sobbing at the thought of seeing his old mate.

His vision was fading, but just before he passed out, a single piece of fluttering cloth waved in front of his eyes. Druid robes.

“Such a shame,” he heard the Druid say before oblivion claimed him.

* * *

Kolivan opened his eyes slowly, trying to process the fact that he was still alive. His stomach, which had heralded the fatal wound last he remembered, was patched up but throbbing. He tried to move his hand to put pressure on it, but found it impossible to move anything but his head.

That made him snap into awareness. He surveyed his surroundings and processed his situation. First, he was suspended from the ceiling by his wrists and ankles. Nothing of use was near him. Just cavern walls and some tech just out of reach. He looked behind him, lowering his head to see from underneath himself. There was a control panel a few feet away. Perhaps if he got free he could send a distress signal?

He raised his head again to look for his blade when the bird-like mask of a Druid appeared in front of his face. He flinched instinctively.

“Look who’s awake,” the Druid hissed. “And here I thought you wouldn’t survive. Silly me.”

“What do you want?” Kolivan questioned. “Why keep me alive when you’ve already killed the rest of my Blades?”

“Because I need information. And I intend to get it, whether you willingly cooperate or not.”

Kolivan’s eyes widened when the Druid raised a hand, which began to spark with dark energy. “Tell me how to get into contact with the rest of your Blades,” the Druid ordered.

“Never,” Kolivan growled. “I would rather die than kill whoever is left out there!”

“I’m afraid you don’t have that option anymore.”

The hand went straight for Kolivan’s stomach wound. It reopened instantly, crackling and tearing his skin and muscles. Then, it began mending itself. That process was even worse; he felt as though someone was badly stitching him up with a syringe. Over and over it went, his wound reopening and healing, leaving him screaming in agony.

“Tell me,” the Druid warned.

Amidst the screams, Kolivan bared his fangs. “N-Never!” he managed.

* * *

A phoeb. A long, agonizing month of continuous torture made Kolivan want to give up and die. Kolivan had never thought he’d survive this long in any torture situation. Usually those who captured him grew bored at his resolve and left him alone in a cell (from which he’d later escape) or someone would rescue him.

He wished someone _would_ rescue him. Like Voltron…he still believed Voltron was out there somewhere, even after a year of vanishing…any day now they would find him, perhaps…

There were days—too many—where he wished the Druid would get angry and kill him already. Those were the days the Druid messed with his mind, gave him memories of a good life and then ripped them away in more painful ways than reopening a stomach wound.

Those days made him want to give up and die. They were memories of a better life, a life before he became Leader of the Blades. Of him as a child, still dreaming the Empire was in the right. Of him, older and a Blade recruit, falling for his fellow recruit Antok. Of those nights Antok would visit him and they would stargaze together.

Then the Druid would warp those memories. His parents and family would kill each other for the sake of violence. Antok would reject his advances or stab him in anger. He would stargaze alone, his heart breaking in two from the loneliness.

Somehow, he managed to stay silent. He tried to keep the ancient Blade signal code out of his mind. Push it so deep he couldn’t find it.

Then, one day in the second phoeb, the Druid didn’t show up to torture him. There was no food or water given, either. He’d just…vanished. For hours Kolivan waited in silence, not daring to call out for fear something worse was coming. His mind was growing foggy from exhaustion when he finally heard footsteps coming his way. He tensed, expecting the Druid to finally come back.

Instead, one of the locals had made it around the corner of his torture chamber, brandishing a sword. When he saw Kolivan, his blades lowered and he gave a sigh of relief.

“Thank the spirits you are alive,” the local said, making his way over. “Are any other Blades imprisoned here?”

“No,” Kolivan mumbled. “I am the last.”

The local had no eyes or a proper mouth, but he still looked sad. “I’m sorry I did not get here sooner, then.”

“The…the Druid…” Kolivan coughed, unable to finish his sentence.

“Taken care of.”

The local cut the ropes and Kolivan was released feet-first to the ground. His legs wobbled, but he held firm. His vision was still foggy, though, but for some reason it wasn’t concerning him.

The local ran over to the console. “We need to send a distress signal. There’s really no one left but us. I only took so long because I needed to be sure it was only one Druid…I’m not exactly the most equipped to handle more than one.”

Kolivan nodded. No one ever really was equipped to fight even _one_ Druid, but they’d had no choice. “We need to be careful. The Empire could be monitoring the frequencies. I’m afraid they know all of the usual Blade codes as well.”

“Is there any sort of signal we could use that you know of? One the Empire might not catch?”

Kolivan paused. “There is…one.” Something felt off, suddenly. A chill ran up his spine, and he felt himself shiver. His breaths were still labored, but he chalked that up to being extremely unbalanced on his unsteady legs.

“One?” the local questioned softly. “Would anyone know it when they hear it?”

“Yes…Yes, senior Blade members. It’s an ancient Blade signal. It’s a code so deep under a signal and under another signal or broadcast that only someone really looking could find it.”

“So, no one would find it?”

“Blade members would,” Kolivan confirmed, his mouth dry. He felt sick. “If they know of the signal, they’d know how to find it…”

His hands moved on their own, flying over the console and screens. He created the signal and attached it to a new, louder signal, placing that just below a random broadcast. The frequency itself never really mattered.

Kolivan looked at his hands right before he hit the button to broadcast the signal. In his state, he’d nearly missed how he actually couldn’t _feel_ the keys under his fingers, or even the ground under his feet. His muscles still felt tensed and unbalanced. Almost as if he…

The local chuckled. “Too bad.”

Kolivan’s eyes closed as a wave of nausea caused him to crumple. His stomach…it was hurting so much! Blood began to drip from his stomach and he tried to move his arm to catch it—but his arms were bound at the wrist, tied to the ceiling as they always were.

He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t escaped.

He’d been tricked.

The Druid was right in front of him. He chuckled, restitching Kolivan’s wound once again. “I will admit, it took you far longer than any other I’ve tortured to crack. But even _you_ can’t stay strong forever. Eventually, I find what I’m looking for.”

He teleported over to the console and immediately began creating a distress signal. The same one Kolivan had _just_ shown him how to do.

“No…” he protested.

“Yes,” the Druid said gleefully. “Congratulations, Kolivan. You really _are_ going to be the last Blade standing. You’ll be known as the Blade that killed his brothers.”

* * *

The Druid kept him alive after that. Not because he was necessary, but because it was _fun_ to watch him squirm. The Druid had even donned a local disguise, because if it fooled Kolivan, it would fool the others. Every time Kolivan was forced to watch as the Druid dragged a Blade, frozen in time, in front of him and killed them, Kolivan died a little inside.

For two years it was like that. Two long, painful years. Between kills, the Druid tortured Kolivan with new wounds, new screwed-up memories. He even went so far as to simulate Kolivan escaping _several times_. Sometimes Kolivan would be off the planet for days before he realized his sense of touch was distorted. Other times he was just a step outside the door.

He’d tried starving himself, refusing to drink, even holding his breath. But it was no use. The Druid forced sustenance into him, monitored his vitals closely. He was kept alive, but only barely.

It hurt so much. He wanted to just end it already. At one point he’d considered begging for it out loud.

That point had been at his lowest, just after another brother had died before his eyes. The Druid dragged the body away and left Kolivan to grieve, still hanging from the ceiling. He cried. Cried so hard at the loss of yet another friend. It was all his fault, and he deserved to just die already.

_“No, Kolivan,”_ a voice whispered into his ears. _“Do not give in. You must stay strong.”_

Weakly, Kolivan lifted his head, though it was getting so difficult to do even that action lately. He squinted, not because his vision was foggy again, but because it was crystal clear. “…Antok?”

His former SiC, one of the largest Blades ever, was standing right in front of him. Starlight glittered in his uniform. His mask was still on his face. _“Help will come, old friend. Voltron will come.”_

“No…” Kolivan looked to the ground. “…this is just another trick. The Druid is trying to hurt me further.”

_“I am here with you,”_ Antok said softly. _“We all are watching over you. We do not blame you for any deaths.”_

“Get out…of…my head,” Kolivan growled. “Don’t you… _dare…_ try to use…Antok like…this!”

_“Kolivan, stop!”_

“I can handle memories!” Kolivan howled, suddenly renewed in energy. “I can deal with you messing with those precious memories! You weren’t the first to do it, Druid! But don’t you _dare_ use a vision of Antok’s spirit to break me further!” He flexed his shoulders, pulling at his bonds. “I will make you _suffer_!”

Antok’s spirit didn’t say anything for a long time. He just watched as Kolivan’s energy depleted and the leader fell slack once more, panting heavily. Then, after a few more minutes, he spoke, _“Do not give up, yal’gruk. Help will come.”_

Tears welled in Kolivan’s eyes when Antok said yal’gruk—a term reserved for mates in Antok’s culture.

The spirit disappeared. A few minutes later, the Druid returned.

“Screaming into the void are we?” the Druid questioned gleefully. “Don’t start without me, Kolivan.”

He didn’t mention creating the spirit. He only came to break Kolivan’s body and mend it again a few times. But Kolivan didn’t scream; he found he no longer had the energy to do so.

* * *

Some time later, Kolivan heard a ruckus directly above him. He sighed. Another brother has come to die, he admitted. Soon the Druid would drag them down and make Kolivan watch their death.

He resolved to not raise his head. He wouldn’t willingly watch this time. His heart couldn’t bear it.

Strange noises erupted from the cavern halls leading to his chamber. It sounded like the Druid was teleporting, but someone else was also doing so. He heard the telltale ringing of blades hitting each other.

Had one of his Blades seen through the trap?

No, he wouldn’t look. He couldn’t.

Someone teleported into the chamber. He heard someone say, “Kolivan?”

Keith.

Keith was in the chamber with him, and that meant the other Paladins were alive!

He desperately wanted to raise his head. To confirm Keith was there, saying he would get Kolivan out of here.

Then the Druid’s laughter rang in his ears. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see a vision of Keith disappear as the Druid laughed at his pain.

But the Druid wasn’t laughing at him. He started rambling about Haggar forsaking him and the other Druids, stating he’d kill Keith and the other Paladins to regain her good graces.

Fighting broke out. Kolivan kept his head down and eyes closed, focused on his wheezing breaths. Sometimes he could figure out the trap by focusing on his breathing and ignoring the Druid’s taunts. This was an elaborate simulation, he admitted. It sounded as if a second Druid was in the room, teleporting and fighting the first alongside Keith.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the chamber. He heard the Druid exclaim, “How?”

Then, after a few heartbeats, the Druid sneered, “I’m going to enjoy making Kolivan watch your end!”

The fighting had resumed, this time with gunshots and whips noises. It lasted perhaps 30 seconds before it sounded as if multiple bodies had hit the ground. Then, the Druid was laughing, teleporting around in front of Kolivan and…

…the Druid screamed. And then he was gone. No more laughter. No more teleporting. No more taunting.

He’d never been through a simulation where the Druid had died within earshot, much less in front of Kolivan. Could it be possible…?

He heard the Yellow Paladin thank Keith, which meant the young Black Paladin had been the one to kill the Druid. A bit of pride swelled in his chest at the thought. He hoped this was real. That Keith was truly here to rescue him.

“Let’s get Kolivan down.”

Krolia.

Even Krolia was here!

Slowly, _finally_ , Kolivan opened his eyes and lifted his head. He groaned, “Krolia…Keith…”

Keith was older. He had a marking on his cheek, matching one of his mother’s. Kolivan felt relieved; the Druid couldn’t make that up if Kolivan had never seen it before.

His feet were let loose first. After being suspended in the air for years, only being let down every once in a while, his legs couldn’t handle his weight. Kolivan immediately crumpled, still hanging by his arms. Krolia and Keith helped him stand up again as Princess Allura cut his arms loose. They slapped limply onto his fellow Blades’ shoulders.

“We need to get him upstairs,” the Green Paladin said worriedly. “So we can scan him properly.”

“Hold on, Kolivan,” Keith whispered. “Please, hold on.”

* * *

His body was very weak and broken, but the Green Paladin had assured everyone Kolivan would pull through. Kolivan was grateful for Krolia coming along with him to help find the Blades who had not fallen for his distress signal.

“Rest,” she said softly to him as they got situated in the cockpit of the Druid’s cruiser. Krolia had created a makeshift bed for him to lay behind her as she flew.

Kolivan needed no further orders. He closed his eyes and slept.

His dreams were riddled with nightmares. The Druid was back, haunting his dreams with his chilling laughter. He was still suspended in the air, still severely wounded. Visions of his old friends and family flashed in front of him, all of them either dying or trying to kill him.

He screamed, trying to get out of his bonds. His limbs were frozen in the air, unyielding.

_“Kolivan!”_

Krolia’s voice sliced through the nightmare. At first, he thought she was screaming at him in anger, just like the others. Her face was screwed up with anger, with betrayal. She was going to hurt him.

Then, he felt hands on his shoulders, pressing him down.

_“Kolivan! Wake up!”_

Down.

He was lying down, not hanging. He could feel the cot beneath him, the hands pressing his shoulders, the suffocating recycled air of a ship.

He went limp, breathing heavily. Krolia came into focus shortly afterward. Her eyes were wide with worry. No anger, no betrayal. Just fear and concern.

“Can you hear me?” she asked tensely. “Can you see me?”

“…yes,” Kolivan finally managed to say. “Yes…I can see you.”

Krolia released him. “You were thrashing about so violently. I thought you were going to fall off your cot.”

“Thank you for your concern,” he rasped.

“Drink.” Krolia offered him a flask. He drank from it greedily, not realizing just how dry his throat was before.

“Are you okay?” she questioned.

“I’m fine,” he said automatically.

“Liar.”

Kolivan sighed. Krolia was too experienced to deal with feeble lies. Damn her. “I am…as fine as I can be,” he admitted. “I need time.”

“You need to rest,” Krolia said.

“If I can get past the nightmares, I should be fine.”

Krolia nodded. “Whatever you need to help you sleep, I’ll make it happen.”

“I’m afraid it won’t be as simple as getting an extra pillow,” he joked weakly.

“Whatever you need,” Krolia repeated.

“I…” Kolivan shifted on his cot. “I just need…I need constant reminder that this is _real_. That I’m _here_ and not…not there…”

He shivered, curling in on himself. His claws slid out to scratch lightly at his legs. The feeling helped him know he wasn’t still hanging. He didn’t want to start harming himself, but he knew if he couldn’t do anything else…he would be self-destructing.

“Hang on,” Krolia said quickly. She left his side, searching inside the small cruiser for something.

She returned a few minutes later with a few items. Mostly old gears and cogs, Krolia handed them to Kolivan with care. “Try these. Just feel them. Let them sit in your hands or rub them against your face.”

Kolivan did just that. He rolled the cogs and gears around in his palms, watching them with interest. He felt them. The little nubs, the difference in sizes, the holes; he felt them all. This was something denied to him in every simulation.

It was perfect.

“When we find a working base,” Krolia continued, “I’ll look into a weighted blanket or something more textured.”

“This should be fine for now,” Kolivan admitted. “Thank you, Krolia.”

She smiled at him, nodded, and returned to her seat. Kolivan rolled over, the metal objects still in his hand. He weaved one into his still-unbraided hair, knowing it would knock against his shoulder and chest if he shifted too much. If he could feel that in his sleep, it would help immensely.

He fell back into a light slumber, waking up every once in a while feeling like the Druid would get him at any moment. But the items in his hand helped. They dug into his palms, not too much to cause pain, but enough that he _knew_ where he was. Finally, his situation had turned around; the Druid’s chamber was no longer his reality. Everywhere else was.

* * *

Not long after his and Krolia’s first resupply trip, he began wearing a soft bracelet with the smallest cogs and gears dangling from his wrist. At first, the idea of a bracelet seemed counterproductive; binding his wrist might serve to delve him deeper into the nightmares.

But, as he soon found out, having a soft material line the bracelet made it more comfortable. The dangling bits would hit his arm and hand as he moved around. If it made too much noise for hiding, he held the bits in his hand, grounding himself with the odd textures of the items. The bracelet became as inseparable to him as his own blade.

Sometimes, though, it wasn’t the touch stimulation he needed. Sometimes, he just needed a quiet mind from all the destructive thoughts.

No matter how much he could help rebuild the Blades, he knew he’d almost caused their destruction. He’d led many of them into a deathtrap, and that had been _before_ he’d given the Druid the deadly distress signal.

How many Blades had he lost? He knew the number. He and Krolia had held a small honorary funeral and counted every single blade the Druid had mounted. The number was so high Kolivan never wanted to say it aloud.

Every one of their faces haunted him in his dreams. Blades from the final stand, Blades he’d watched die. He hated himself for his failure to protect even the strongest among them. As soon as they were rebuilt, Kolivan decided he would step down and let Krolia lead. After all, who would follow the Blade who’d killed his own brothers?

One night, Kolivan was sitting up in his makeshift cot, in a separate room from Krolia on some asteroid. He played with his bracelet numbly, muttering softly how he was a complete failure who didn’t deserve to lead.

_“Don’t say that.”_

He jumped in surprise. That voice…

“A-Antok?” he sputtered.

Antok’s spirit—the same one that had visited him in the Druid’s torture chamber—nodded. _“Yes. I’ve been with you the whole time, Kolivan. We all have.”_

Kolivan looked around, blinking. One by one, his fallen brothers and sisters began to appear. Even those that had fallen before the final stand, before Voltron even, were there. Regris, Thace, Ulaz…all of them.

Thace stepped forward, smiling. _“Every leader loses Blades. It is an inescapable fact. None of us blame you for our deaths. Our deaths were our own, just as yours will be your own one day.”_

_“You deserve your position,”_ Ulaz said with a nod. _“Few would have survived as you did. Or stayed sane.”_

“I doubt I am truly sane anymore,” Kolivan said dryly. He played with his bracelet again, focusing on the textures. “I’m speaking to spirits…”

Antok bent down and put his ghostly hand on Kolivan’s shoulder. It didn’t have a physical feeling, but it was still cold upon contact. Something about it soothed Kolivan’s mind. “ _Yal’gruk, we do not fault you for wanting rest. Retiring is an honorable choice but know that you should not choose it because of your fallen brethren. You should choose it knowing you are leaving the rest of the Blades in good hands.”_

Kolivan thought of Krolia. She would be the perfect replacement for him, he knew that much. Perhaps that was a far better thing to focus on than his fallen kin.

_“Rest, Kolivan,”_ Antok whispered. _“Ease into sleep and rest your mind. Just as you focus on that bracelet to remove yourself from the Druid’s nightmare, focus on the future to remove yourself from the past.”_

Kolivan’s eyes grew heavy. He slowly collapsed back onto his cot, exhausted. He let his bracelet items fall slack. Rest sounded fantastic.

_“Rest,”_ the other Blades called softly. _“We forgive you. You are safe.”_

The next morning Kolivan awoke more refreshed than he had in decaphoebs. He remembered the advice of his old mate and fallen brethren, then smiled.

“Focus on the future,” he muttered, looking at his bracelet. He rotated the cogs and gears around on his palm, breathing deeply and calmly.

This peace of mind probably wouldn’t last forever, but Kolivan was grateful to have it now. He thought of the future, of having living Blades by his side once more, supporting each other just as his fallen comrades did for him. He thought of the Paladins of Voltron, back from the dead and so close to achieving peace.

The cogs and gears rolled around in his hand, letting him know that future was as real as his bracelet. And, just like his bracelet, the future was finally within their grasp.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please don't hesitate to comment. I'm sorry if this felt all over the place, I just needed to word-vomit and so this happened. Suffer as I have suffered.


End file.
